Not-So Innocents Abroad
by Freebooter 4Ever
Summary: An American cowboy in Japan gets a crush on a Kabuki actor who reveals himself to be a disgraced Samurai and together they cause a sensation in the pleasure district while trying to survive their respective troublesome pasts. Largely follows main overwatch plot but translated to a 1840s historical setting


_**Disclaimer: not historically accurate, more like historically inspired**_

Some maybe useful actual historical background info: The play Hanzo is performing is Sukeroku, google search his character Ikyû to see pics, basically an old man costume with red paint. Hanzo's later role would be his Kabuki skin. Okuni was the founder of female Kabuki circa 1600s ish, a 'shrine maiden' who left her shrine to perform dramatic dances in a male samurai costume in the city, the shrine tried to get her to return but she kept sending letters back saying no thanks with lots of money in them, she retired before age 40 disappeared and is rumored to have married an artist. Truly dedicated Ninjas don't eat meat to reduce body odor for sneaking around. The roofs of Kabuki theaters were actually enclosed sometime in the 1700's. The pleasure district actually burned down and moved all over the city until finally put outside the city throughout the Edo period. Fights over who could take the actors home at night actually happened but usually on the street and were not sanctioned by the theater, this was also a lot more common prior to 1800's before government crackdown. Kabuki acting in the 1600-1800s was inherited through generations of actors dedicated to the art and training begun at a young age, so disgraced samurai Hanzo actually probably would have been a terrible actor/dancer in contrast, Jesse is just biased.

THANK YOU TO ILYEN AND DEMONSANDSUCH FOR EDITING!

 _ **New Years Day, Japan, 1840:**_

This is not planned. All Jesse knows is one minute he's thoroughly enjoying the day's entertainment and the next he's yellin' something about a man's mama, hopping over one of the little wooden rails that divide up the audience, and landing smack in the middle of a brawl. A brawl that doesn't end until he's at the top of the heap, holding onto someone's leg, and grinning proudly in the direction of the stage.

Everyone seems a bit shocked by the outcome, most of all him.

The actor whom the fight started over is still standing a third of the way down the theater's promenade thing, looking scandalized. Nobody can pin this one on the foreigner though, for once Jesse did not start the fight. He merely joined in. And _only_ _after_ the Narrator of the play said something about the winner getting a night with the performer of their choice.

The Narrator repeats this verdict from where he stands on stage, his voice carrying easily over the audience now that everyone's gone dead silent. He then tilts his head to stare down expectantly at Jesse. The Narrator's movements are as artful as ever, as if this is all part of the play. Maybe it is, Jesse's got no clue about these things. But one thing is for sure, no one in this room thought someone unaccustomed to their customs would win.

Jesse uses this. He pretends to be momentarily caught off guard and the whole room waits in anticipation while he ponders. He's interested for sure, but not in any of the usual, popular actors. Jesse doesn't know how everyone will react when he announces it.

"My choice, eh?" he asks, scratching his chin, and exaggerating his southern drawl just a bit, making every effort to appear as harmless as possible.

While he deliberates, someone in the crowd finds his hat and the old thing makes its way over to him passed from hand to hand. Jesse supposes his cowboy gear does stand out something awful, not hard to figure out who such a hat belongs to. He accepts it gratefully and rams the thing back on his head where it should be - whoever knocked it off is lucky Jesse wasn't focused enough to register faces during the fight.

He wasn't even paying enough attention to realize he was standing without his hat, despite usually feeling near naked if it's missing. He does an inventory check, and all the rest of him seems in place. This goddamn crush of his has got ahold of him hard.

He settles the hat more firmly on his head and runs a hand along the brim, a cocky smirk on his face. The truth is, he knew from the minute he heard the word 'contest' whose hand he'd be fighting for. After all, there was only one man in the performance he'd been coming specifically to see multiple times in one week.

And that man is decidedly not making eye contact.

The actor is perched on a sort of cupola that's built into the stage set, off in the corner, examining his fingernails. He looks bored. The exact opposite of the reaction Jesse might have been hoping for. Jesse suspects the actor didn't even _watch_ the fight. The actor is more reticent than the others, keeps to himself. Not exactly by choice, as far as Jesse can tell, but more because of a lack in demand. And the actor very clearly does not care.

So this may be Jesse's only chance.

Jesse clears his throat. Not that he needed to, all eyes are still on him. The Narrator looks concerned, as if not quite sure the foreigner understands everything going on around him, or is maybe a little slow on the uptake. Which, yeah, Jesse probably doesn't; his grasp on Japanese culture ain't too good yet even if he does understand the language thanks to his Japanese friend in the states. Though Genji was originally from an isolated province far outside the city, surrounded by nothing but farms, which Genji claimed gave him a bit of an accent. Genji told Jesse not to worry, that when Jesse got to Edo, he'd easily acclimate and the accent would disappear. So far it hadn't worked out that way. Jesse can still hear a subtle difference between his Japanese pronunciation and the locals. Doesn't bother him none, he's accustomed to having an accent.

Besides, he's only been here a little under a month.

"I pick Ikyû," Jesse calls out, deliberately not looking at the man in question.

The silence blanketing the audience and performers lingers.

"What?" the Narrator asks bluntly, obviously perplexed.

"Ikyû," Jesse coughs, worried he's pronouncing it wrong. He finally looks over and points.

Ikyû's expression is frozen somewhere between a glare and stunned confusion.

Jesse's isn't the only head turned towards the actor. The audience once again waits with bated breath for a response. Ikyû glances at the Narrator briefly, before steeling his expression and giving a brief nod. With that, he disappears behind the cupola.

"Okay..." the Narrator trails off, still eyeing Jesse like Jesse's got a few screws too loose.

Jesse crosses the audience pit - the crowd parts to let him through - and slides inside the door to backstage held open by another of the actors. Ikyû has yet to make a reappearance. Backstage is a confusing mess, painted sets, props, dressing rooms built on multiple levels with years and years of history behind it; more complicated than Jesse's ever seen in the states. It unnerves him, as much as it fascinates him. Jesse was born on the open range - lived there all his life, where the only truly ancient history is in his mother's stories.

A different actor guides Jesse through the maze. Jesse will never find his way out of this. They ascend at least three flights of narrow stairs all in different sections of the theater before the actor pushes Jesse into a little door. The door is then closed softly, and Jesse takes his hat off, to be polite.

Ikyû sits at the opposite end of the tiny room, fiddling with a case. His beard is gone, but his full face of makeup remains. He looks a lot younger, without the beard, closer to Jesse's age and more the age Jesse thought he'd be. The man stops moving as soon as he senses Jesse's presence, but does not look up.

"Howdy," Jesse drawls lazily, trying to appear more confident than he feels.

Ikyû turns, and looks, disbelief written on his features.

Jesse smiles earnestly.

"They say you fought well," Ikyû says, skeptical, "though nobody is sure how you managed that because your form was so sloppy. But they also say that you jumped into the fight so fast and enthusiastically, everyone assumed you wanted the prize more than anyone." He pauses, waiting for confirmation of this.

Jesse nods, "That's right."

"And yet you picked me," Ikyû states blandly.

"I did."

"All the other men and women in that brawl were fighting for the favor of our plethora of attractive _young_ actors, the most popular of which can command great riches for a night with him. And I...am the brooding, grumpy shadow lurking on the edges of the story who always plays either the villain or the snake with no attractive qualities whatsoever," Ikyû continues in the same matter-of-fact manner. As if he is explaining something very simple and obvious.

"I'm aware."

Ikyû scoffs, his mouth a wry smile, "Are two worded sentences all you can form in Japanese, cowboy?"

"No," Jesse says simply, puffing his chest up.

This time Ikyû smiles despite himself, and gives Jesse a barely perceptible eyeroll.

Jesse winks, "And I beg to differ about that last part there. The bit about attractive qualities. Hate to tell ya you're wrong, but..."

Ikyû stands sharply, bracing himself as if ready to argue. Jesse holds out a hand to stop him.

"The other players are the broadly painted types, the jesters, the ones with a lot of big show," Jesse continues, "But you, you're the king."

"Were you not watching the play, cowboy?" Ikyû mutters.

"Well...yeah, okay. I _was_ kind of distracted whenever _you_ came on stage, but that's not the point," Jesse argues, "My point is..." he holds out his hand, "my name is Jesse Mccree, and it's a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

The man seems taken aback by the switch in conversation. He looks distrustful at first, then wraps his hand around Jesse's. "Hanzo," he says.

"Hanzo," Jesse repeats, testing the pronunciation. He takes Hanzo's hand, gives it a good shake, and steps back.

"So," Hanzo says with a selfsure grin. He straightens his shoulders and stiffens his spine, "What is it you would like for your reward, Jesse Mccree?"

Jesse chuckles. "All I wanted was the chance to meet you. And now I've had it. And I'll get outta your hair," he says in one long breath. He turns to go. And then it's a quick hop to the door in such a small room.

"Wait," Hanzo darts forward. His fingers barely brush Jesse's bicep, but it's enough to make Jesse pause.

Jesse lets Hanzo swivel him around and push into his space. Hanzo reaches up to run a single finger along Jesse's beard, across Jesse's lips. He traces Jesse's nose and brow, and then Hanzo's whole hand buries in Jesse's hair.

"What if I wanted to kiss you anyway?" Hanzo asks, low, guttural.

"Dare ya," Jesse says.

Hanzo yanks him down forcefully, crashes their lips together. Jesse drops his hat. It's all he can do to catch Hanzo and hold on. Hanzo is nearly falling into Jesse with how close their bodies are pressed together and how much weight Hanzo is leaning on him. After Hanzo's initial thirst is sated, the kiss turns softer, quieter, more explorative.

And then Jesse takes over. He breaks the kiss briefly and presses his lips to Hanzo's neck. Jesse leaves a trail of red marks from where Hanzo's red tinted lips rubbed off on Jesse's face. Jesse plants his feet, digs his hands under the top flap of Hanzo's costume to cup the actor's ass, and draws Hanzo in, encouraging him to lean even more on Jesse, until the shorter man is on his tiptoes, nearly lifted off the ground. Hanzo grins and captures Jesse's lips again.

Jesse hasn't had a proper kiss in a long time. Years, probably. Not like this anyway. Not the kind where they break apart for air briefly only to nuzzle and dive back in. He'd be happy to do this all night, given his legs last out. Though by the way he's shaking, that might not be too long.

Finally, Hanzo opens his eyes and leans back. Jesse continues to kiss his jaw, his ear. He nudges open Hanzo's loose shirt and buries his nose in Hanzo's collarbone. He breathes deep. Somehow, amazingly, Hanzo smells of nothing. Fresh air, the kind before snow. And in the cloisting perfumed pleasure district, it's like a relief. He sucks on Hanzo's skin there, and can feel Hanzo's chest heave against him. Though when Jesse pulls off, and smiles down at Hanzo with hooded eyes, there's a strange hint of blue peeking out at Jesse from between the folds of Hanzo's shirt. A light grey blue, a pattern on skin, underneath the makeup, not the color of a bruise. Besides Jesse didn't think he had done enough to leave a mark. Had tried not to, anyway.

Hanzo tilts his head closer for one last little kiss, and then huffs, with a smile, "You're very good at that." He sounds surprised.

Jesse's grin widens and he squeezes Hanzo's butt, lifting him closer, "How about I show you what else I'm good at?"

Hanzo makes the cutest little laugh. Jesse almost doesn't catch it. Hanzo tries to muffle the noise by pressing his face into jesse's shoulder. But there's a rather hard, and large, bulge Jesse can feel pushed against the front of Jesse's pants. Hanzo doesn't seem bashful about that. Unless that's just the knot that holds Hanzo's clothes together.

For a minute Hanzo stays wrapped in Jesse's arms, his hands fisted tightly in Jesse's shirt. Jesse, for his part simply enjoys the warmth and Hanzo's obvious comfort.

"That joke practically made itself," Jesse murmurs in Hanzo's ear, making it clear he doesn't actually expect anything, "I couldn't resist."

"I still cannot believe...of all people," Hanzo says, "It was you, cowboy, who won that fight."

"Can't rightly believe it myself," Jesse confesses.

Hanzo chuckles and leans back to look Jesse in the eye, "That hat you wear says Sheriff. What are you?"

"Exactly what it says," Jesse winks.

"But you fight horribly," Hanzo laughs.

"You were watching?" Jesse asks, eager.

"Unfortunately," Hanzo admits, "It was hard to look away. From you."

Jesse bites his lip, smiling stupidly and leaning in to bump his nose with Hanzo's.

"So is this what you wanted?" Hanzo asks, staring at Jesse's lips, "From the fight?"

Jesse catches Hanzo's face in his hands, lets more space filter in between their bodies, "Mostly I just wanted to _see_ you. Without all this rigamarole and underneath that get up. The you I get hints at in the depths of those _pretty pretty eyes_."

Hanzo's eyebrows shoot up, and he pushes away, unimpressed but still smiling, "Is that a line you use often?" He turns his back to Jesse and starts to untie various strings on his costume.

"Only used it once so far," Jesse teases, his mouth suddenly dry, "But if you give me more reason to..."

"Get out" Hanzo interrupts, sounding completely unmoved.

Jesse's face falls, "Ah. All right..." he stutters, caught off guard, "I apologize, I..."

But then Hanzo turns, and Jesse can see the smile on his face and mischievous glint in his eye. "Get out, so I can change," Hanzo says again, no less firm, but the effect is somewhat mitigated by the fact that he _looks_ ready to strip Jesse down as well.

Jesse nods, smiles, places his hat back on his head, and tips it. He backs out of the room, Hanzo's eyes following him the whole way, and closes the door behind him.

"Meet me behind the theater in twenty minutes," Hanzo orders before the door shuts.

As soon as he's alone, Jesse releases his hold over his emotions and grins helplessly. He pumps his fist in excitement and nearly does a hop when he turns away from the door, only to freeze when he realizes half the cast is staring up at him. He channels his excess energy into lifting his hat, running his hand through his hair, and plopping it back down, hiding half his face beneath the brim. But he can't hide his damned grin.

"Uh...any of you folk care to show me where the back entrance is?" he asks the group at large, his hand on the back of his neck, trying to cool the heat rushing to his face.

There's laughter, and whispered snatches of conversation, and then everyone promptly disappears.

"Yeah, yeah," Jesse laughs, "Embarrass the fish out of water cowboy some more. All in good fun. Good fun."

Jesse gets lost. At first he makes an honest to god attempt to find his way. But random theater people keep stopping him to chat, as openly curious and entertained by him as he is them. And their short directions only guide him to the next hall, of which there are multitudes. Eventually a stagehand, no older than Jesse was when he first became an outlaw, leads Jesse through a final passage, so short Jesse has to crouch, and throws open a door to the street outside. Jesse stumbles out, tipping his hat in thanks.

"Finally," a familiar voice says directly behind him, amused, "I thought you might have changed your mind. Found one of the beautiful ones instead."

Jesse turns around. He doesn't say anything, he's pretty sure he doesn't even breathe, he simply pulls hanzo in and kisses him. "Huh, so your beard is black," Jesse screws his eyebrows up in concentration. He brushes his thumb across Hanzo's scratchy jaw, "and here I thought the red roots were natural."

Hanzo huffs, but smiles, and flicks his finger against the underside of Jesse's hat, knocking it off his head and forcing Jesse to bend over and retrieve it. Which Jesse takes his sweet time to do.

"I'm hungry," Hanzo says admiringly.

"Lucky me," Jesse retorts.

"For real food," Hanzo rolls his eyes affectionately, "Come, cowboy, I know a place."


End file.
